


For Fear of Burning

by Mintly



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Anal Sex, Angst, Banter, But they sure love banter, Cigarettes, Implied Fucking Through History, M/M, Moody Lighting: The Fic, Porn with Feelings, They're not very happy feelings though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintly/pseuds/Mintly
Summary: After the thermos was delivered, the tension of a hundred years of fear and pain crackled between them like fireworks. Then it snapped, popping and sizzling, catching flame in a burst of desire. They hadn’t even made it under the sheets this time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 231





	For Fear of Burning

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my lovely and amazing friend [Darcy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcylindbergh/works) for looking this over and also being the absolute sweetest.

Crowley tossed his head back, sweat shining slick on his neck and naked chest in the light pouring in through the window, yellow incandescent and pulsing red from the neon lights of Soho—the glow of London up late and lusting. Aziraphale, who had made a home for himself in the dirt and beauty of this city, was no different. He and this place were bound, in smoke and in filth and in faith. In love.

After the thermos was delivered, the tension of a hundred years of fear and pain crackled between them like fireworks. Then it snapped, popping and sizzling, catching flame in a burst of desire. They hadn’t even made it under the sheets this time.

Bony ankles hooked around Aziraphale’s thrusting hips, pulling the two of them closer as Crowley’s breath hitched high and higher. Aziraphale’s heart sped, the treacherous thing.

“Fuck, angel,” Crowley said. His hands shot behind him to scrabble at the iron of the antique headboard. Gripped the bars white-knuckled tight. “ _Fuck_. Oh Satan. Don’t you dare stop. Unholy shit.”

Aziraphale, helpless to do anything else, sunk again into the welcoming heat of Crowley’s body. Crowley moaned his pleasure, squeezing his knees almost painfully against Aziraphale’s ribs.

“Oh, Crowley.”

“Azira–Aziraphale! Keep going, or I’ll kill you. Or–or not but don't _stop_ —oh _fuck_. Angel!”

Crowley arched, his back lifting from the bed as their chests pressed together. His cock pulsed into the little space between them. As he bucked, his spend smeared across both their stomachs.

Crowley exhaled hot against Aziraphale's ear, satisfied and sinful, and that was it. A shudder ripped through Aziraphale as he thrust as deep as he could, one final time, and came. His orgasm was blinding, mind-meltingly pleasurable, and he gasped, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

His hips slowed, and Crowley slumped to the bed, his ankles falling to either side of Aziraphale’s waist. Crowley’s eyes stayed closed, and Aziraphale quickly blinked away the tears.

"Nnnn,” Crowley said.

“Well said, dear boy.” As full of wit and backtalk as he usually was, an orgasm always left Crowley a bit inarticulate. Aziraphale couldn't help but tease him for it.

Aziraphale rolled off him, his spent cock slipping wetly from Crowley with an obscene sort of noise. If Aziraphale slept, which he chose not to, he would hear it in his dreams.

Crowley apparently paid it no mind. He swatted at Aziraphale.

“Shut it, you. Can’t blame a demon after a seeing to like that.”

“Why, that's quite the compliment,” Aziraphale said, grinning cheekily at the demon beside him. Crowley scowled back.

Aziraphale watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Crowley gave a full-body stretch, audibly appreciating the soreness of his hips where the imprints of Aziraphale’s thumbs were just darkening.

“Cigarette?” Crowley twisted a hand and one appeared pinched between his fingers.

Aziraphale took the offering and put it between his lips. Crowley produced a second cigarette and a lighter which sparked to life with a flick of his thumb. He rolled toward Aziraphale, his own cigarette kept between his teeth, and held the flame between both cigarettes. They caught, glowing red in the sudden darkness as the lighter clicked shut.

Crowley sat up on his elbows as he took a puff and exhaled smoke to the ceiling. He looked like a dragon, with all the fire in his hair and the scales he couldn’t quite hide sneaking up behind his ear. His wings shimmered on some other plane, immaterial but still real and present to Aziraphale's angelic senses. He was beautiful and terrible, this darling beast Aziraphale had fallen in love with.

Aziraphale sighed, and his own bluish cloud of smoke rose to mingle with Crowley’s and dissipate into nothingness. Cars honked outside, but it was muffled, distant.

“I hope, er, you enjoyed it,” Crowley said into the sudden silence.

“I always do.”

“Right,” Crowley said quickly, breathlessly. Flustered from exertion still, surely. “Great. Uh. I should be out of your hair after this. With the holy water now and everything. Should be all set. Don’t need to rob that church anymore. It's back to Mayfair with me.”

Pain twisted inside Aziraphale's chest, made a knot of his heart. He thought of how Crowley’s long fingers had tangled in his curls tonight. Of how much he didn’t want him to let go. Of how whole he felt, having Crowley in his arms as they held each other, joined again in the way Aziraphale craved and craved and craved. Always had, even before there was something deeper to it. Before this painful knowledge that he loved and would never be loved in return.

“You don’t have to leave,” Aziraphale said.

“I—”

"Not immediately, at least,” he continued, in a rush. “You can stay the night, if you wish. I’ll make tea for you in the morning.”

“I usually have coffee.”

Aziraphale looked at him sideways.

“Tea.”

Crowley laughed. “Fuck, fine. I’ll stay for tea.”

Aziraphale could feel the way Crowley’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, and felt lighter, for the moment, with the joy of it.

Crowley finished his cigarette and left it still smoldering in the ashtray atop a pile of books at his bedside. Aziraphale waved away the come drying on their chests and between Crowley’s legs. Crowley muttered his gratitude and wrapped himself entirely in the bedding, drifting off. The indulgent creature always slept after a fuck, and Aziraphale always stayed, though he didn’t join him in slumber. Left alone with his thoughts, dread sunk its claws into him.

A thermos of holy water dressed in his own tartan laid innocuously in the Bentley outside. It was perhaps the only holy thing that truly scared him, and only because it would be in the hands of the only unholy thing he loved.

Aziraphale burned his cigarette down until he could feel the fire at his fingers. He stubbed it out then, too afraid of the burn. 

He watched out the window where Soho still flashed red, the neon spilling over his floor like a warning, and tried desperately not to feel used.


End file.
